Ah! how we puff! But thus we demi-gods ever puff at our ease." "Puff; puff, how we puff," cried Babbalanja.

"but life itself is a puff and a wheeze.

Our lungs are two pipes which we constantly smoke." "Puff, puff! how we puff," cried old Mohi.

"All thought is a puff." "Ay," said Babbalanja, "not more smoke in that skull-bowl of yours than in the skull on your shoulders: both ends alike." "Puff! puff! how we puff," cried Yoomy.

"But in every puff, there hangs a wreath.